


Every Other Freckle

by goaliemagic



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, And Failing, Asexuality, M/M, also, at some point????, but i'll try to update, listen im trying to work on this, sorry y'all, this is kind of a crack fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goaliemagic/pseuds/goaliemagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inadvertent time travel AU; Esca appears in the dumpster of Marcus’ apartment complex, covered in dirt and blood, and speaking what Marcus thinks might be Pictish.</p>
<p>Things just go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry to anyone who knows shit about Berkshire, or Pictish, or Roman Britain, because I don’t know much of anything about those, and I’m sure there are many inaccuracies to follow.
> 
> Special huge thanks to Sineala for translating the Latin in chapter one! :3 
> 
> Title is from Every Other Freckle, by Alt-J (whose music really reminds me of The Eagle for some reason)

Marcus is in the middle of convincing himself for the third time that another cigarette won’t hurt, he’ll go back to studying for his finals _right after_ , for real this time, when something falls out of the sky and lands in the open dumpster next to him.

_It’s probably just…_ he can’t really think of anything that regularly falls into dumpsters around here, but he’s sure it’s nothing.

A crack echoes out from the open bin.

“It’s _nothing_ ,” he says, just to reassure himself, and then goes over to peek at the dumpster anyway.

It smells _disgusting_ , and is also, apparently, now home to a boy covered in blood and grime who’s blinking up at him like he’s looking his last few seconds at the world.

Marcus swears loudly.

The boy narrows his eyes, and replies something that sounds soft against his tongue, all rolling ‘r’s and tapering consonants—Marcus doesn’t know his language, but it _sounds_ vaguely like Gaelic, and—

The boy speaks again, something else this time, before he wrinkles his nose in obvious frustration and distaste, and says, “ _Latina?_ _Loquerisne latine?_ ”

Marcus drops his lighter.

“ _Latine loquor_ ,” he tries cautiously, wincing slightly at his own pronunciation and trying to wrap his head around what the fuck is happening.

The boy sits up to look out of the dumpster.

He has tattoos curling around his arms, up his shoulders and across his chest. He has a dagger strapped to his thigh. And he’s looking out at the streetlamp like it’s some miracle of technology.

Holy _shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out I’m gonna be using italicized English to indicate when Latin is being spoken. Also, I’m adding classics students, linguistics students, British people, and University students to the list of people to whom I am apologizing—I don’t know much about those, either. I am doing my best to make it realistic without doing… shall we say… any research at all… mostly because I’m writing this just to practice prose, and if I start researching Roman Britain, I’ll never stop. It’s happened before. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy the misunderstandings that are to follow!

Marcus hasn’t stopped staring since the boy—Esca, he knows now—climbed out of the dumpster. His tattoos glow in the soft lighting from the streetlamps and the few lit windows, and under the dirt there are many patches of scar tissue that stretch, sharp and raised, across his arms and stomach. There are a few newer wounds, too, most of them on their way to becoming infected.

“ _Where are we?_ ” Esca asks, voice slow and tongue tripping slightly—he sounds, for all that Marcus would know, like he learnt Latin a long time ago, and hasn’t spoken it much since.

Marcus thinks for a moment about the ruins a few kilometers out, and says, “ _About three hours walk from Calleva. This place is called_ Reading _._ ”

“ _And are we within Rome’s grasp? You do not sound like a Roman_ ,” Esca says, eyes sweeping up Marcus’ body, “ _Though you rather look like one._ ”

Marcus fights to keep a blush from staining across his face, unsuccessfully. He moves a little closer to Esca before saying, “ _No.… Rome_ ,” he pauses, trying to figure out how to impart two thousand years of history in a few short sentences, “ _Has fallen. A long time ago, in fact. She rules only herself, now, and Britannia is her own again._ ”

A wide grin stretches across Esca’s face, teeth glinting and eyes bright. “ _That is most welcome news. Then you are a kinsman, yes? From Britannia yourself?_ ”

Marcus winces. “ _I am from Rome,_ ” he says, and watches Esca’s grin slide away slowly, “ _But, Esca, our people have had no quarrel for many years._ ”

“ _And, so,_ ” says Esca, brow furrowing, lips still downturned, “ _What is the year?_ _And if Rome fell so long ago, as you said, how is it that their tongue persists?_ ”

Marcus winces again, and answers the easier question first. “ _Roman culture has been somewhat preserved… their language is,_ ” here he fumbles for the word, “ _archaic? We call it dead—Rome’s inhabitants speak another language, now; I have learned it for my studies._ ” Marcus pauses again.

“ _And the year?_ ” Esca asks, when it is clear that Marcus will not continue without prompting.

“ _It is the year 2016,_ ” mutters Marcus, and then watches closely for Esca’s reaction.

He has none, save for the minute tightness that flicks across his jaw, and then is gone.

Esca nods, then, as though internalizing the information, and shifts his weight awkwardly.

Marcus does some quick thinking—Esca does not know the area, the language, or the customs; this will take some time to teach. Esca is filthy and has few clothes; Marcus has a shower, but nothing small enough for him to wear. Esca is in need of medical attention; Marcus is a classics student, not a nurse.

“ _Come with me,_ ” says Marcus. “ _I will help you._ ”

It only occurs to Marcus when he is taking the stairs (and saving the elevator for another time), Esca following uneasily behind, that he has neither the time to teach Esca, nor the money for medical attention or clothes.

Well.

He can always skip classes and sell a few books.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo much dialogue, sorry. Poor Esca needs to figure out what the fuck is happening, you know?

“ _I am running,_ ” says Esca, standing in the middle of Marcus’ flat, arms wrapped tightly across the jut of his bare ribs, “ _From… these villains. And then I am here, and I’m lying in some foul smelling box, looking up at things I did not think even Rome could conceive of, and it seems to me that I must have fallen, and hit my head, and been sol—been taken to Rome and forgotten about it. And then you appear overhead, tell me it is two thousand years later than I was, tell me that Rome has fallen, that Britannia is free, and you take me to this place in an impossibly tall building—what happens when the ground shakes, when the gods are angry? Does it not collapse?—And I am, I apologize, but I am having a difficult time understanding everything. We are in the same place as I was, but it’s different, now—Calleva was an outpost village, with no towns surrounding it for days, but here we are._ ”

Marcus fidgets with his t-shirt, and Esca’s eyes catch on the movement.

“ _And you are wearing the strangest clothes for a Roman! And where are the fires, the furs to sleep on, your family, your wife? Is everything so different that I cannot recognize the world for what it is? How—_ ” Esca cuts himself off to take a deep breath and look around once more. Marcus, who has been inching toward the stove in hopes of making tea, takes the pause to interrupt Esca’s rambling.

“ _Esca,_ ” He begins, and then Esca cuts him off again.

“ _If you do not speak Latin here, what language do you speak?_ ”

Marcus sighs. “ _It’s called_ English. _It sounds like this_ ,” he searches his memory for something to say in English, and settles on a poem. “The life that I have, is all that I have, and the life that I have, is yours. The love that I have of the life that I have, is yours, and yours, and yours.”

“ _It is a strange language,_ ” says Esca cautiously.

“ _I will teach it to you,_ ” Marcus assures him.

Esca unfurls his arms slightly to scratch at one of his injuries. Blood spills sluggishly down his chest, a single thick line that crawls downwards.

He needs to go to the hospital.

On the other hand, he doesn’t speak English, he doesn’t have an ID, and he doesn’t have money to pay for the visit or medication.

Maybe Marcus can just use band-aids.

“ _Let me,_ ” Marcus begins, and Esca whips his head up to look at him guiltily, “ _Let me take care of you—of those! I mean. I mean to say, let me put on bandages and… ointment?_ ”

Esca nods a little skeptically in acquiescence. Marcus very gently takes his arm—it’s freezing and clammy—and walks him toward the bathroom.

He reaches for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “ _This won’t hurt a bit,_ ” he lies, dabbing some onto a rag and reaching for Esca.


	4. Chapter 4

“ _Why is it **bubbling**? Is it eating my flesh?!_ ”

“ _It’s disinfecting, Esca, it’s not eating you—_ ”

“ _It **stings** , why does it—what have you done—_”

Marcus finally wipes away the hydrogen peroxide and Esca, who had apparently been whining mostly for show, shoots him an irritated glare.

“ _There, that’s done, then._ ”

“ _It’s not healed_ ,” Esca says lowly, like he’s asking for confirmation.

“ _No, but it’s clean, now. It just needs to be bandaged._ ” Marcus cringes. He’s bad with bandages.

***

Esca stares at his arm; it’s mostly unrecognizable as a human limb, so covered in gauze as it is. And his stomach, usually worryingly concave, is now also a mound of gauze that extends up to his chest—Marcus had found wounds on his back, too, that needed to be cleaned, which Esca apparently wasn’t going to mention.

“ _I feel…_ ” Esca pauses, perplexed. “ _Very protected from infection._ ”

“ _Good!_ ” Marcus laughs, slightly hysterically. “ _That’s what I was going for!_ ”

***

“ _What’s this?_ ” Esca asks, and then he doesn’t bother waiting for answer before pressing the button on his stereo.

**Please, please, please, let me, let me, let me get what I want this time—**

Esca scurries around to hide behind Marcus at the burst of sound, but he’s peeking out from behind Marcus’ back when Marcus reaches out and presses the off button, real slow, face mostly red from mortification.

“ _What was he saying?_ ” Esca asks, apparently completely unashamed and unapologetic.

“ _No,_ ” Marcus manages, and goes to put on tea.

He’s putting chamomile into two mugs when he hears it restart—Esca seems to have pushed every button until the music came back—and lets out a long sigh. At least he can’t understand it.

Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen I couldn’t NOT make marcus a smiths fan……. And of course Esca would press every button he sees hes a small curious monster…..


End file.
